pV Ventnor Girl’s
College* Career
By Grace Mary Moore
The days around Hallowe’en I
remember especially because they
were party days, and who doesn’t
love a party? i The Sophomores
prom was undoubtedly the most
hailed, yet I can’t help thinking
that those co^y, informal “spook”
parties in our room proved to be
most fun!
nA.11 week, the between-classes
chatter consisted of “Prom talk,”
(excluding, of course), the inevit
able, “Oh, I just know I flunked
chem quiz flat!" and the other
■ academic wails.
“Who is taking you to the
Prom?” -r
“Been invited to the Prom yet?”
“Oh dear, I have the most at
tractive date for this week-end^
and I can’t decide, whether to
break it or not! I guess I will—
just can’t miss the Prom!”
And at last it arrived. During
the day in spare moments, the
girls took the covers from their
dance frocks, shook them out and
contemplated the Necessity of
pressing. Then for some there
Were hurried trips in between
classes to the hairdresser, and
just before dinner the raid on the
shower rooms began. Through
out the late afternoon, the maids
were busy scurrying to our rooms
with hoxes from the florist, and at
one time, the stack of boxes in
the living room was so large that
one wondered if enough flowers
grew to supply all the girls in the
freshmen dormitories. I think
there was scarcely h Sophomore
who did not send a corsage bou
quet to the freshman whom she
was escorting to the dance (if
girls may bejsaid to “escort”).
It seemed that we had hardly
arrived before our Sophomore
' bundled us off in taxis and sent
us back again to the village. But
while “it” lasted, we danced,
v danced, danced! ■The orchestra
was from Harvard, and even those
girls whose respective “men” are
at Priqceton or Yale had to admit
that the music “was all there.”
The last thrill of the evening
penetrated when we went to our
rooms and found our beds all
ready, with the covers turned
back. I think it was the Juniors
who diet. this'. Isn’t that a nice
sister class?
■ Anotner oi tne more iormai
affairs of Hallowe’en was dinner
that evening. * The dining-room
fairly oozed black and orange;
there were black and orange
ballots, witches on the walls and
cats af.fV owls on . the tables. We
actually had two extra courses,
but it was nearly feast enough to
watch the gay colors of the
dressers—for we had been re
quested to “wear our party
frocks,” you see, and many of the
colors were orange, or black,
apropos of the festival, and white.
About nine-thirty or ten that
very same evening, if you had
been here, you would have noticed
, figures in negligees and bathrobes
slipping quietly into Number 23.
And if. you had crouched beside
that door, you would have heard
varied snatches of conversation.
“Did he really ?”
“More cider, please!”
v “Hey there, you with the talka
tive bathrobe! Wanta cookie?”
“Silently the figure crept up
to-_ \
V" “Some more gingerbread-”
“Yes, she is popular,
“Say, you’re some hostess! I’ve
had only five cookies and three
cups of cid-”
“Now he had at last reached the
edge of the roof and that awful
noise continued. Thump, thump,
thump!-”
“ ’Nother slab of fudge, please!”
And then probably you would
have heard the “quiet bell” ring,
and a sudden hush, broken only by
an occasional gasp of excitement
as the hero of the ghost story
nearly-dropped into the chasm.
Another evening there was a
very riotous supper party, and it
was given by us of the Southeast
Wing, as a surprise for one of the
girls whose birthday it was. Our
room* for various reasons, was
Western Impressions
By Bessie Marshall Walker
Convince a man against liis
will, is the last stand in a duel of
words, and one of the opponents,
if his cause is not a matter of
life and death will concede the
point rather than be labeled ob
durate, mulish, etc., but not so
the Apache Indian. He may be
corralled by the government and
stationed on a reservation, but
his habits he adheres to just as
closely as changed environment
will permit.
xiiese in mans are smart as a
race with knotted, slouching fig
ures far from resembling the
romantic aborigines that have
fascinated writers ever since the
field has been exploited. /When
these men of the plain and the
desert were first introduced to
their reservation and the frame
houses the government had built,
they calmly herded their horses
and cattle into the buildings and
slept out on the ground in their
rude little grass and canvas huts.
For the younger Indians, there
are good vocational schools, but
the process of changing the in- j
stincts of generations is ex
tremely slow and discouraging, j
The Indian cannot see any use j
for change. Assimilation with j
the interests of the white race is i
torpid. An easy, care-free life, i
a place to sleep—and he is not i
fastidious—a little warmth, food,
clothing, bring contentment. His
spirit is broken; he can’t amal
gamate this new life in a re
stricted desert country with his
old roving propensities. And the
government helps to foster this
trait. His meagre necessities are
supplied; why try to develop
himself.
“Outside the reservation, the i
government takes no stock in the '
Indian,” Ii heard a Southerner
comment. The Apache carries
his house on his back, and wher
ever night-fall finds him is his
home. One often sees a couple
starting out toward the hills in
late afternoon. The “Twentieth
Century Woman” finds no place
in this race. If there’s a child
to be carried, the woman has it
“pig-a-back” in a shawl, wrapped
about her waist. If it’s a bundle
she carries it in a calico,, slung
selected as the most suitable, and
oh my! I do wish you could have
seen Friend Roommate and me as
we balanced ourselves on' the
bookcase to string festoons of
orange and black with witches,!
’n everything, across the ceiling! i
Even if. we did do most of the j
decorating, I’ll have to admit that!
the room was certainly a festive |
one when we had finished. All i
sorts of huge black cats had a!
procession around our walls, and!
our lamp stands had especial;
Hallowe’en hats, and—well, I just j
can’t think of all the details now.
But I do remember that we col
lected as many yellow and black
cushions as We could, and made a
circle with them on the floor.
Then we brought in the girls (I;
suppose it isn’t ladylike to adver- j
tize this, but anyway—we were j
in pajamas— and everyone sat in j
the circle. The orange candles on 1
the cake were lighted, and the
birthday girl was ushered in and:
sung “Happy Birthday” to.
Everything went smoothly— i
except that , there could have been
a little more salad, and some
one spilled a glass of cider, and
proceeded to sit in it and on the
potato chips, and someone drank
a glass of vinegar that the pickles
had been in, thinking it was cider.
Well, as I said, excepting those
mishaps, the party was a “gr-rand
suteess.” Speaking of food, I
think every girl along the cor
ridor had a box from home, and
so- we had every variety of cake,
cooky, pinoche, rolls, nut-bread,
fruit, nuts, and—oh, just every
thing! ,
But Hallowe’en has gone. And
now Thanksgiving is almost here
—and Christmas? Well, I know
the very number of hours from
npw till then! -.... ^ ^
around her forehead', while the
man stalks ahead with a little
sack or nothing at all. There are
small groups of these bee-hive
shelters at varying distances and
these wanderers go from one to
another. These gaudy women
love window-shopping just as
much as the Boardwalk visitor,
but rubbing against style makes
no difference in their uniform
dress. Tennis shoes sometimes
displace high moccasins, but noth
ing rivals the calico full-skirted
wrapper—its ruffle trimmed with
a regulation three rows of braid
at top and bottom, and the little
Mother Hubbard waist. They
look like the wrappers "of the
nineties. Even though their
square faces are stolid, expres
sive of exposure and toil, never
theless, they have the curiosity
of their sex. Visitors may turn
about to gaze at them, but they
will invariably find a pair of dark
eyes fixed in their direction.
Their real eccentricity is in
handling their babies. I was
walking down the main- street
one afternoon and a queer click
ing noise attracted my attention.
There sat two fat squaws, cross
legged on the pavement, and one
was thumping'a small burden in
a hoop-shaped frame lever-like
across her knee and every time
a leg of the frame struck the
pavement. One could not see the
baby; it was entirely covered
over with a bit of purple
flowered voile. Vanished were
my ideas of neatly leather
thonged papoose. If the covered
child were as dirty as the little
black imp that peered over the
woman’s shoulder, then this is a
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jOnce in a while these Indian
men do go "into the mines, but
most of them live by hunting
quail or - rabbit and in winter
have resource to theft and gar
bage cags. They find life as hard
as the soil. But there is one
Indian supported by the govern
ment outside the reservation—
Big Chief Talk a Lot, who gained
notoriety in the old days as a
government scout and, conse
quently, bears an onus -of un- !
popularity with his own -tribe, j
He must have a few satellites,i
However, for grouped arohnd his j
little frame house, a government
gift, ,are the usual grass huts.
These denizens wear a reflected
glory and probably share Chief
Talk a Lot’s pension.
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